


Days Past: Paris 1902

by TimeToTravel



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alastair POV, M/M, Mild Charles/Alastair, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Paris 1902, Thomas and Alastair are Adorable, Thomastair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeToTravel/pseuds/TimeToTravel
Summary: Alastair Carstairs had arrived at the Librairie Galignani expecting to purchase a few novels and leave, not run into a person from his past, never mind Thomas Lightwood. What began as his last day in Paris turns into a fantasy spanning two days with someone who should hate Alastair.((I stole the title from the book chapter. This was originally posted on my Tumblr for @my-failed-attempt))
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs & Thomas Lightwood, Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	Days Past: Paris 1902

Large arches welcomed Alastair Carstairs into a charming bookshop on the Rue de Rivoli. The Librairie Galignani. The average person strolling past wouldn’t have likely noticed the store at all, nevermind the average shadowhunter. Unfortunately, many shadowhunters did not enjoy the company of such locations, thinking it too mundane to give notice. Not Alastair. Alastair was a rather peculiar case, having a deep fascination with mundane literature and history. For Alastair, the oldest English-Language bookshop was a marvellous sight to behold.

The visit was meant to be a relatively short one, Alastair having a subsequent engagement to attend to. He picked up large volumes filled to the brim with poetry, tales of misery and sorrow. Alastair enjoyed reading those types of novels, it helped him appreciate his own a little better as if to say, “at least he wasn’t there, in that situation.” Shutting the book, Alastair looked up only to find a giant of a human being directly in his line of vision.

Was that- Thomas Lightwood?

What was _Thomas Lightwood_ doing in Paris?

Thomas turned to look towards him, waiting a second before giving a short wave in Alastair’s direction. He may or may not have been frozen there, staring rather impolitely (his mother would have murdered him) before gathering his senses and pushing through the crowd.

Without having a moment to think, Alastair began speaking. “By the Angel, Lightwood. You’ve become gigantic.”

By the Angel indeed. What used to be the scrawny boy was now a person of impressive stature. A few centimeters over 190, he’d wager! Unfortunately, his inability to control his words led to a couple odd stares and an eyebrow raise from Thomas himself. At that point, Alastair had already done the damage, so he might as well continue.

“This is your revenge I suppose for all the times I called you ‘wee Little Thomas’ or ‘half-pint’ or-I can’t remember, I’m sure I had something cunning or witty to say,” he added, as though Thomas had suddenly decided to grow taller for the sake of revenge.

“What are you doing in Paris?” Thomas asked, ignoring the previous statements.

_What was_ he _doing in Paris?_ Alastair thought. He had half a mind to ask Thomas of reason for his own Parisian excursion, and so he did.

Thomas responded by stating he was on holiday from training in Spain before he began to look visibly ill, likely nervous to reveal such information to someone who wasn’t a friend.

Alastair rushed to think up something to comfort him, to ensure he meant no ill will. He settled upon an idea. A pointless, stupid idea, but it was better than nothing.

“Do you want to come to the Louvre, then? I’m going there after this.”

To both of their surprise, Thomas agreed.

~*^*~

The Louvre was crowded. It was brimming with groups of people bustling about from painting to painting. Alastair wasn’t fond of crowds, having grown up moving from location to location led him to be content in quiet places. Never making friends, always being alone. Regardless, Alastair made it his mission to gaze at the wonderful art hanging from each wall. Oil paintings depicting mundane events adorned the building, history living through the brushstrokes of someone long gone. Alastair was fascinated.

He turned to face Thomas, for just a spilt second, watching him observe the beautiful objects. They exchanged a few comments, both communicating their observations. They were quite well together, appreciating the beauty around them. Of all the people to meet in Paris, Alastair hadn’t been expecting Thomas to be there, though, nevertheless, he was glad for Thomas’ company.

He didn’t have to keep the walls up any longer, didn’t have to pretend to belong in a group. Alastair sincerely hoped for forgiveness for what happened at the academy, regret had followed him every day since. He hoped Thomas could forgive him.

~*^*~

The two left the Louvre to walk along the Seine. Alastair inquired of Madrid, speaking even of his own stories. That was a curious event for Alastair had told nearly no one of his life, other than Charles, so his opening up to Thomas was rather peculiar. He had been rather lonely, having no one to speak with other than his family. He had learned quite soon into the constant relocation that any friendships he’d made wouldn’t last.

The Eiffel Tower came into view, a brilliant feat of engineering bathed in the orange glow of the sinking sun. Before long, the two began speaking of it, Alastair marvelling at the sight, unable to comprehend how one could think of such a structure as ugly. He’d wager the tower would be a quite memorable one.

Alastair watched as Thomas gazed up at the structure, observing his eyes trained on the distant tower.

A beat passed.

Two.

“It isn’t ugly,” he said. “It’s just unusual.”

To many, Thomas’ lines would have meant nothing, a passing admiration for ‘Eiffel’s folly.’ Not to Alastair. No, to Alastair that was a declaration of character, and Thomas’ was as pure as they came. He refused to look through rumors and understood the true beauty of the things before him.

Alastair forced himself out of his daze, continuing to speak of the magnificent tower and it’s ingenious creator, determined to not lose himself in fantasy.

As the sun set over a peachy sky, the pair sat at a Bistro nearby where Thomas spoke of his plans to get a tattoo of a compass rose. Curious as to the whereabouts of said tattoo, Alastair asked, “Where on your arm?”

Thomas directed Alastair’s hand to the sensitive skin of his forearm. Alastair could feel a shiver passing through Thomas, gently letting go and paying for dinner. Infernal and persistent voices demanded Alastair to touch his arm once more only to be silenced by all the logic he could muster. It would be odd to do that, though it wouldn’t be to ask Thomas to meet him the next day, so he did just that. He asked Thomas to meet him the next day.

~*^*~

The next day was an eventful one, Alastair taking Thomas to see _Le Voyage Dans La Lune_ , the latest film. Alastair was impressed by the advancements in mundane technology, an incredible feat for those lacking magic. A moving picture! Needless to say, it was quite enjoyable.

Leaving the theatre, the two spoke of the film, marvelling at the wonderful sight. At the end of the lane, Alastair said his goodbyes.

“I’m leaving Paris the next day.” Alastair didn’t mention that he was meeting Charles, catching up with him before he left for Idris. He felt as though he had walked into a dreamscape only to be leaving so soon. Alastair hadn’t intended to stay in Paris for so long, planning to meet Charles a day previous, though he found it hard to regret his time here despite his lack of such with Charles.

Alastair eventually ended saying something idiotic, leading to feelings of guilt. He paused for a minute before speaking once more. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” He had already made so many mistakes, done so much wrong, he didn’t want to ruin it due to an idiotic phrase he hadn’t thought through.

Thomas gazed at him in concern before reaching out his hand. In a sudden lapse of judgement, Alastair reached out and held it in his own. These few days in Paris had been a dream, a beautiful trance open to no one but themselves.

Thomas looked down to meet his gaze. “Well. Goodbye, Carstairs.”

Alastair looked up, the setting sun making the tips of Thomas’ hair a peachy gold. “Goodbye, Lightwood. Try not to get any taller. You’re starting to be off-putting in the other direction.”

With that, they broke apart, Alastair walking off into the distance, wanting to turn back once more, but refusing to do so out of sheer willpower. He turned the corner to leave behind the Parisian fantasy and into one of cold truths and bitter endings.

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the summary, this was originally posted on my Tumblr @idontgetit-whydoihavetosaymyname, but I was pretty proud of it. Thank you so much for reading!! :)


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